Fire, Ice, and Arcane addictions.

Magic is a strange thing. To those who can See it, it is as simple as living. To those who can’t, it’s as complex as life. Raw magic flows in streams around everything and through everything, and using it is as easy as reaching out and touching those streams: redirecting them. These streams originate from anything that lives, and things once lived, primal elements, and more complex sub-elements. The way these streams pull around various objects and people forms a certain pattern. This is aura.

Veran knew these currents well; he knew how to see them, and how to feel the way they were moving. He could sense other spellcasters by looking for fluctuations in the magic streams. He could See the force of death in the Barrens, and See the life in the crater. The change was so abrupt, he failed to See the trap hidden in the altered streams.

It had fallen around them lazily, as a normal stream might, reaching towards them in a gesture a curious creature might make to something new it found near its burrow. It had then snaked its way around them gently, and fastened itself to them. The way it now sat, it was something of a waiting noose.

Veran tried to free himself from the snare, but not with any real effort. He knew he was caught. His escort, however, noticed nothing. “Shall we continue?” She asked.

He wept inwardly at her stupidity. “Yes,” he conceded. “Let’s go meet a wizard.” They started down a path that wound through the small valley, aimed somewhat towards the largest tree there was. He noticed something watching him from the brush. He could See it. He dismissed it, however, as a simple creature, because the aura it gave was weak and shallow.

As they approached the large tree, Veran Saw the wizard. He hadn’t bothered to disguise his aura at all. Veran found himself supremely disappointed. He had expected a showy entrance. “It’s what I would have done.” He spoke aloud.

“Would have done what?” A voice spoke from a clearing just ahead. The massive tree stood just behind the small clearing, closing it gently between giant, curved roots. Around the tree, and in the tree, through the tree, and with the tree, was a house. It lived on the tree, hung from its trunk and sat on its branches. Veran took just a moment to look at the wizard’s home, before he found his eyes drawn to the wizard himself.

“It is customary to answer the question of your superior.” The wizard suggested in a smarmy tone that rivaled Veran’s. He was, indeed, a troll. His skin was a tone somewhere between light lavender and a powdered blue. His clothes were disastrous. They were simple and plain, and they hung from his body. Combined with his unkempt, spiky mess of hair and bored eyes, it made him look entirely unimpressive.

Veran stared at the wizard’s face, trying to read his character, but ended up staring at his tusks. They were sharp, awful things that pushed out in front of his mouth. Oddly, Veran’s first thought about them was, ‘He must be hard to kiss.’ “It was nothing.” Veran spoke, dismounting with the utmost grace.

The escort all but fell from her mount, exhausted from the ride and the company. The wizard waved lazily to the side. “Food and water for the striders. Tea and crumpets for the riders.” He sat at the small table he had set up with a variety of teas and breads.

Veran took the seat directly across from the wizard, still unable to size him up. He seemed so unimpressive, and also unimpressed. Finally, he decided he didn’t care, and took to the shortbread. The escort threw herself onto her chair, thanking the wizard heartily for the meal.

The table was silent for a few minutes, then the escort stood again. “It’s nearly midday.” She moaned. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t be back to the Crossroads before nightfall. And camping in the Barrens is not a treat.” She bowed her farewells to the wizard, and shot a dirty look at Veran, both of whom remained silent. She then took her bird and left.

Veran felt he had forgotten something, and watched her leave. “And the curse?” He asked the wizard, remembering.

“Already gone.” The wizard replied curtly. Veran checked himself, but found the curse still active. “From her,” the wizard added. “As long as you are here, you will keep it. It’s a simple Obedience Curse. Do what I say, when I say it, or I activate it and you collapse.”

Veran tried to speak out, but was cut off before he started. “My name is Jonde. Yours is Vendelson or something. I don’t care. Here’s the thing.” He leaned over the table and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want you here. I’m perfectly happy living alone, and the last thing I need is some prissy brat running about. You are here because I owe your father a favor from a long time ago, and he made me promise I would keep you for a three week trial period. After, which, you’ll be going home and I’ll be happy again.” Jonde flashed a smile.

Veran spoke up. “Incredible. As much as I’d love to spend three weeks with a crusty troll in an over glorified tree house, I doubt you’ll be able to handle me for ten days.” He snagged another piece of shortbread with an angry smirk. “And my name is Veran.”

Jonde stood and beckoned Veran to follow. “Three weeks was the promise. It will be three weeks: not a day less and not a day more.” Veran stepped through the door in the tree’s trunk, and followed Jonde up the stairs carved into it for what seemed an eternity. By the time they had reached their destination, Veran was gasping for breath and trying to hide the stitch in his side. He couldn’t tell how old the troll was, but he took those stairs like they were nothing!

Jonde waved at the room, half embedded in the tree. “This is your room. Go ahead and relax, unpack, do whatever, but do it in this room. I have no intention of babysitting you.” He stepped around Veran and started up the stairs again. “But do get to sleep at a reasonable hour. Your training starts tomorrow morning.” Veran turned, and Jonde was gone.

Throwing his bag to the side, Veran scowled at the room. It was a nice room, though, if rather small. The room was maybe a square twenty feet, but fourteen feet high. Bookcases lined one wall, tables covered in alchemic supplies lined the other. The back wall was almost entirely a window, but there was a ladder leading up about seven feet to a second floor that crossed only a quarter of the room. He climbed to it and lay on the small bed there.

He was upset, of course. This room was hardly a dungeon. It looked beautiful to him. The walls and ceiling were what seemed bamboo, the floor was good, hard wood. It was well lit and aesthetically pleasing, but it was still a prison. He looked back to the open door and cursed the wizard in his mind. He thought angry thoughts about Jonde’s moodiness and arrogance. “Three weeks.” He mumbled, before his eyes lit up. “It’s a contest.”

His mind was suddenly distracted entirely. Contests, he liked. Mostly because he always won. “If I get him to throw me out in less than three weeks, I win.” He laughed to himself. “Starting tomorrow.” He leapt to the bottom floor from the bed, almost expecting the room to fall from the tree, but it was secure. He took his time unpacking, and by the time he was done, night had fallen.

“Of course.” He sighed, climbing back to his bed. “It’s a valley. Dawn starts late and dusk starts early.” He yawned and stared at the ceiling. He was rather tired from a morning of riding. He stripped his clothes and dropped them beside the bed. He lay there, naked, and thought of home.


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I promise smut next chapter, okay? Hooray for smut!

Thank you for the review, wanderingaddict. Reviews make the story worth writing. So I will continue to write if I continue to get reveiws. (Even if they're from you, wanderingaddict, cuz that means I have a fan to please. :P)